


Silent Witness

by PlaneJane



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:38:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlaneJane/pseuds/PlaneJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After reluctantly agreeing to house-sit for Uther and keep her eye on 17-year old Arthur, Morgause finds herself in the awkward position of witnessing Arthur and his boyfriend <i>in flagrante</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Witness

**Author's Note:**

> The age of consent in the UK is sixteen. There is no underage sexual activity in this story, within the bounds of UK law. 
> 
> Beta - frakkin_addict.
> 
> Originally posted on Livejournal October 2010.

“Gotta go, sweets.” Morgause extracted the brand new navy cardigan from the _Laura Ashley_ bag at the bottom of the wardrobe and pulled it on over her vest, automatically flinching from the scratch of wool against her skin. 

“Already?” Nick pulled his face into a feigned pout, making her ache all the more on the inside.

“Yes. I’ve got to be at Uther’s by three.” 

“Tell me again, why exactly does he need you there?”

Her face was stony and stern, as she leant close to the mirror applying an unusually cautious dab of mascara. “Because his stupid prat-faced son is completely incapable of looking after himself?”

“Isn’t he like, _seventeen?”_

“Yes, but I expect with the maturity of a twelve year old. Although, to be honest, I haven’t seen him since Morgana left for uni.”

“Why can’t she do it? I thought we’d at least get to spend a bit of time together while I’m home.” 

“Exams.” She dug out a pale pink lip gloss from the bottom of her make-up bag. “Apparently little Arthur’s got exams, too. I suppose Uther wants someone there to make sure he gets to bed early or doesn’t feel all lonely and stressed. How should I know?” 

Morgause surveyed herself in the mirror. She hated the nakedness of her eyes: too pale, too insipid and blue without eyeliner. She turned around and glared, hands on hips, in the direction of the bed – the bed she’d really rather still be in. 

“Nice look. _Homely._ Very Mary Poppins.”

“Shut up, _Cenred.”_ She knew what reaction that would get. He hated her calling him by his stage name. 

He growled low, as much a dare as a protest as he swept his dark mane off his face, curling towards her on his side. “I’ve told you not to call me that. Just ... Nick, just plain old Nick.”

She laughed as she crawled onto the bed, pawing his groin through the duvet, immediately soothing out his displeasure. “Then don’t call me Mary Poppins.” 

He effortlessly rolled her onto her back, ghosting a breathy kiss behind her ear and squeezing her between the legs, sending a jolt of heat down through her thighs. It was going to be a long week. He leaned in and whispered, “Car keys are on the kitchen table.”

“Come up on the bike Friday?” Morgause pushed herself up and off the bed. She sighed and added hopefully, “You could stay the weekend.”

Nick hooked his hands behind his head. She knew what was coming. Despite his edgy look - the long hair and leather, the hard-arsed rock star persona - Nick Leonard was the most sensible and grounded man she’d ever met. He wouldn’t want to stay in Uther’s house if he wasn’t welcome. “Call me tonight,” he offered. “Let me know how the land lies. I’ve got a couple meetings tomorrow then I should be free and clear.” 

“I’m a grown woman, and I’m doing Uther a favour. I don’t give a shit what Uther thinks about you or the band or the lifestyle he might _think_ that you have.”

“But it is his house: his rules. Man’s home is his castle and all that.”

“Yes, well he’s left his castle in my capable hands for a week. It won’t hurt to stir things up a little at the house of Pendragon now, will it?” With an insolent smirk, Morgause lit up a Marlboro and dragged hard, downing the last of her coffee before picking up her holdall. Nick shook his head, but she knew he loved her precisely because she wouldn’t be tamed – he told her so all the time.

In any case, deep down, Morgause knew she owed Uther for taking in Morgana when she wasn’t in a position to do so herself: that Morgana had had it a darn sight easier than Morgause because of it. It didn’t mean she had to like him, though.

~*~

Uther was already standing on the driveway when Morgause pulled up, his driver loading his suitcases into the back of the car. The house looked smaller than she remembered from last time but that had been a few years ago before her own circumstances had improved. He looked the same as always: arrogant, austere, unapproachable. Not that she was intimidated by the likes of him, but it was no good riling him to the point he wouldn’t leave. She’d promised Morgana she’d behave, in front of him at least. Checking herself in her rear view mirror before getting out, Morgause prepared to go through the motions.

“Arthur will be back from school at four-fifteen. He passed his driving test last month so he has his own car. He’ll let you know his schedule. There shouldn’t honestly be much for you to do.”

“That’s alright. I’ve brought a pile of medical journals to catch up on.”

“When do you start?”

“A couple of days after I get back from here.”

Uther nodded. His driver got in the car and started the engine - a silent and subtle hint they needed to leave; the M25 was a nightmare around Heathrow at any time of day. He pulled Morgause in for a brief stiff and awkward hug. As he stepped back he said, “You probably think I’m being an over-protective old fool. But he’s my son – the only one I’ve got. I should be here, with his exams and so on. He’s not difficult – quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll get along fine.” 

He looked back, an unfading trace of anxiety still etched at the corners of his eyes, as the car turned onto the road.

~*~

A dark blue Golf pulled up the driveway and from the living room Morgause watched Arthur getting out. Three years had certainly filled him out in all the right places. She wondered if he was still the same self-important brat that blindly emulated his father, as he’d been the last time they crossed paths, at Morgana’s eighteenth birthday party.

Before he’d got as far as hanging up his blazer, Morgause went into the hallway, sizing him up as she always did new people. “Hello Arthur. Long time no see.” Morgause leant against the banister, her fingers tucked into the front pockets of her jeans. Arthur was taller than her now and as broad across the shoulders as Nick. There was no trace of the boy in his physical appearance, at least.

He spun around, seemingly unaware she was there. “Oh, hello Morgause.” His eyes raked over her critically, _resentfully._ They were on the same page then.

It was hard to know what to say after that. Pleasantries were never Morgause’s strength. She needn’t have worried, as Arthur spoke again first. 

“I don’t need you here.” He was sullen.

“Good. Then I’ll keep out of your way. But your father said -”

“I know what my father said. Don’t worry – I won’t be hosting any wild parties. I’ve got a cricket match on Saturday and exams starting Monday.”

He sidled past Morgause and headed into the kitchen, opening the fridge without as much as a glance back at her. Possibly this wasn’t the best opening for peaceable relations but she saw it as a good start nonetheless. Arthur, stood with his back straight, seemed focused and purposeful. 

Sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, Morgause silently observed Arthur swigging milk from the carton. He looked at her the whole time, not breaking eye-contact until he turned around and put the carton back in the fridge without wiping off the top, although he did swipe off his milk moustache with the back of his hand. Through the back of his school shirt she could see the ripple and pull of his muscles. He was fit, strong. She wondered if he would fight the fight or whether it was all for show. Being raised by a man like Uther, it could go either way. 

As soon as Arthur turned back in her direction he said, “Nice cardigan. _Laura Ashley._ Did you buy it specially?” It took Morgause by surprise and it must have shown on her face. Arthur smiled triumphantly as he pointed to her neck. “The tag, it’s still hanging out.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t want to scare you with my witch’s outfit.” 

He didn’t even raise an eyebrow. Instead he added, “Don’t smoke in the house. I hate the smell and my father does, too.”

Morgause didn’t ask how he knew; didn’t want to give him the smug satisfaction. In any case, she was quite enjoying this. It would only be a matter of time before she’d find a way to get her own back on him.

~*~

Morgause hardly saw Arthur during the first couple of days.

Friday morning he left for school before Morgause was up so she spent the day reading and fiddling around on Twitter. She counted down the hours until Nick would be up. She’d booked them a table at Niccolino’s. No one would know who he was there. They could go out for a quiet dinner; maybe go to the pub on the way back. 

At just after four, Arthur rushed in, raided the fridge and ran up the stairs with a hurried hello. Given she’d spent another day alone, Morgause wasn’t sure that she preferred being completely ignored over sullen and argumentative. She was more than used to spending time on her own but on the whole she preferred company, even if it was surly and obstreperous. 

He was taking a shower. She sighed and thought about calling Nick, to see whether he’d left yet. The traffic would be heavy out of London and the table was booked for eight-thirty. It would be nice to have some one-on-one time before they ate.

When Arthur came down he looked ready to go somewhere – his hair shining and golden, laying in soft wisps across his forehead, wearing a crisp blue shirt and dark jeans. He approached Morgause with his car keys in his hand.

“You look nice,” she said. 

“I’m going to Merlin’s.”

“Oh, that’s good.” She wondered if there were also going to be girls there but decided it was best not to mention it. “My boyfriend Nick’s coming up this evening. We’re going out to eat and I expect we’ll stop in at a pub on the way back. What do you want to do about dinner?”

“I’ll have something at Merlin’s.” Probably after telling Merlin’s mum the _help_ wasn’t cooking for him tonight. He hadn’t lifted a finger to do anything in the last two days, his empty plates not even making it into the dishwasher by his hand. 

“One more thing, Arthur. Nick’s going to be staying here for the weekend.”

Arthur simply shrugged, without a hint of distaste. “Sure. Whatever.” As he turned to head off he added, “I won’t be back late, before you say anything. I’ve got to be up early tomorrow.”

And like that, he took off. 

Nick called not an hour later.

“I can’t come until tomorrow morning, babe.”

“You’re kidding me?” He was on his mobile, in a car. She could hear Chris talking in the background, which could mean only one thing. 

“Sorry, but Tim’s arranged for an interview with _The Herald._ We’ve been waiting on this one. It’ll be good publicity before the album comes out. We’re doing it over dinner. I’ll head up first thing tomorrow. I promise.”

“Sure.” Her heart sank. “See you tomorrow.” She wasn’t going to go to pieces like some pathetic girl. She tried not to sound plaintive as she added, “Don’t say anything I wouldn’t.” 

It made Nick laugh before he said, “Love you.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That was the end of that then. No point in washing her hair or getting out of her jeans and t-shirt.

~*~ 

By seven, Morgause was dying for a smoke ... and a drink. She glided her socked feet over the wooden floor into the living room and perused the drinks cabinet. Uther liked his Scotch. There was a half drunk bottle of Glenfiddich that caught her eye. Morgause poured herself a generous two-thumb’s worth straight into a crystal tumbler; no ice, no ginger, no soda. The first few sips were a delicious burn, radiating through her throat and chest. In minutes it had gone to her head and she decided to recline, to give in to the intoxication with a smoke as its inevitable companion.

The front window was a deep bay and had a built in seat, covered with cushions. She stretched out along its length and opened the side window so she could lean out with her cigarette. With cushions behind her back and her chunky cardigan wrapped around her shoulders, Morgause surveyed the tops of the hydrangea bushes just beyond the glass. Humming to the soft sound of some old jazz which jittered and whined from the CD player, Morgause savoured her single malt and dragged long and slow on her cigarette, blowing the smoke out in rings through the open window.

By the time she’d downed the glass her eyelids were already heavy, already half closed. The sun was getting lower and the sweet smell of the flowers wafted in. Morgause leaned into the mound of cushions and closed her eyes, the jazz replaced by birdsong and a lawnmower in the distance.

~*~

The first thing Morgause was aware of, through the determined drag of sleep, was the clicking shut of the front door. Next there were hushed voices - Arthur and someone else, another boy. She was coming out of a forgotten dream, its sultry mood still clouding over her consciousness, still holding her, while she tried to rouse herself. Her eyes were stubbornly closed, but the voices were audible enough, even if she was still unclear whether they were only inside her head.

“Are you sure?” It was a male voice: not Arthur’s.

“Yes. It’s alright. There’s no one home.” _That_ was Arthur’s voice.

The subsequent quiet made Morgause stir - the feeling that they were still there was disturbing; gently stirring away the slumber. Yet her eyes would not open.

There were muffled laughs and the sound of movement, of someone banging into furniture - which meant they were still in the hallway. Morgause forced her eyes to open just a fraction, her eyelids protesting as they scraped over her too-dry eyeballs. There was a soft stream of hazy half-light coming in through the glass in the top half of the front door, from the porch light. The dark of dusk had turned the sky outside the window inky-violet, the inside of the house in deep shadow. There was just enough light though to see the profiles of two grey-blue figures in the hallway talking, mumbling in low voices, face to face. Morgause blinked hard, to chase away the lingering swathes of sleep, as it dawned as sudden as if they had switched on the light, that they were _kissing._

In an instant, Morgause was fully awake. _This_ she had not expected; Arthur was gay. And he’d brought someone home.

She should have coughed, moved, said something, but as each second flew from her grasp so went the opportunity to do the right thing until she had been staring, mesmerised for too long. From her position on the window seat, curled low into the pillows and a blanket, Morgause was able to get an unobstructed view of them in the hallway. As she saw them in their embrace, her only fear was that they could just as well, if either decided to turn their heads, see her too, looking right at them. They were maybe fifteen feet away and the living room was shrouded in darkness, but judging by the way Arthur’s flaxen hair shone like silver thread and the way his friend’s milk-white skin glowed ghostly, they would surely be able to see her blonde tresses and her own fair skin if they glanced in her direction. 

Arthur’s friend was, presumably, Merlin. He was of a height with Arthur, but slender and pale where Arthur was muscular and golden. His hair was raven black in the half-light, where Arthur’s was silver-blonde. The backs of Merlin’s thighs were pressed against the sideboard, his face pressed into Arthur’s. Their kisses were deep and noisy and neither was holding back. Merlin coiled his leg around Arthur’s thigh as he arched into Arthur’s hold about his waist, carding long fingers through Arthur’s hair. Seeing them in profile, Morgause could see the grinding of their hips as they pushed into one another with unsuppressed groans. 

As they pulled back momentarily for breath, their faces now visible, Morgause realised she’d been holding her breath too. With wide-eyed disbelief she abruptly clamped her hand over mouth, lest her startled gasp betray her. Merlin was beautiful, with fine features and high cheek-bones. But he hardly looked fifteen. They were breathing hard, looking into each other’s eyes. There was no way they could have heard Morgause and no way they’d seen her.

“Please, Merlin. I want to.” Arthur’s voice was coaxing, but tender.

“What ... here? Shouldn’t we go upstairs?” Merlin grinned, his eyes almost shining with a light of their own.

“No. I want to do it right here, right now.”

In the time it took for Morgause to contemplate once more whether she ought to say something, let them know she was there, Arthur had already undone Merlin’s belt and was working on his zip. She squeezed her eyes closed, and cursed the Scotch for making her fall asleep, for putting her in this position. Christ knows, she wanted to look – the sudden pulse of heat between her legs flared out like a warning, like a taunt. She _was_ a red-blooded woman, after all. The flush rose fast to her face as she decided she would pretend to be asleep. Maybe they would go up to Arthur’s room and never know she’d been there. 

She heard Merlin say softly, “Fuck yeah. So good.”

Arthur laughed and Morgause couldn’t help but crack open her eyes. Merlin’s trousers were pulled down over his hips, and for _sweet mercy’s sake,_ she could see his cock, hard and proud, Arthur stroking it slow and flicking his wrist over the tip the way she knew drove Nick crazy. Arthur kissed him, wet and messy, and Morgause felt her heart pounding; her own breaths deepen and falter with anticipation. She resolved to look but never tell a living soul. After all, they were teenage boys; it would be over in a couple of minutes. 

There was a pause where Arthur whispered into Merlin’s ear. Whatever he said, it was met with fervent approval. Arthur unbuttoned his shirt, throwing it down onto the stairs behind him while Merlin pushed his trousers down to his ankles. With that, Arthur dropped to his knees, engulfing the tip of Merlin’s cock into his mouth and wrapping his hand around its base while the other seemed to be gripping Merlin’s hip.

Merlin’s eyes were shut, his head tilted back. Full and perfect lips parted as he gasped out a litany of praise, his knuckles stark and white as they gripped the edge of the sideboard. 

He looked so young. Morgause didn’t know which was worse - that she was still watching, or that Arthur was giving head to a boy who was in all likelihood underage. It was as though her eyelids had been possessed by a strange affliction that had pulled the muscles taut, lifting them intractably and enduringly upwards. She _tried_ to close her eyes, to do more than blink, but Arthur was moaning around Merlin’s cock; his head bobbing up and down, the spit glistening over his chin. Now Merlin was fisting Arthur’s hair and clearly he was enraptured with every tiny moment of it. How could she not watch when it sounded and looked so fucking good?

Arthur pulled back. He looked up at Merlin, breathless and hoarse, and asked, “Are you close? I want you to come in my mouth.”

Merlin blinked hard and gasped again as he nodded. There was something reverential, a pause in the exchange that was much longer than she would have anticipated. In those few pounding heartbeats it dawned on Morgause that this was their first time doing this, at least with each other. Witnessing that split second, the thrill that passed between them as Arthur took Merlin back into his mouth, sent an electric jolt through Morgause, forcing her to squeeze and clench her thighs; to resist the temptation to press her fingers between her legs and get herself off right then and there. Instead, she bit down on her fist and kept on watching.

When Merlin came it was with a rasping sigh, his hips jerking into Arthur’s mouth while the wide and solid spread of Arthur’s palm held him firm. It was undoubtedly the most erotic thing she’d ever seen.

After Merlin stilled, he pulled Arthur to his feet and into his embrace. With unexpected tenderness, Arthur ran his fingers through Merlin’s hair and planted fleeting kisses along his jaw with half-whispered endearments Morgause could only just discern. It was obvious Arthur adored him. Somehow Morgause felt worse that she had witnessed this, than the hurried blow-job that had preceded it. She would never have guessed Arthur was so sweetly in love. She forced her eyes closed, and prayed he would take Merlin upstairs. 

No such luck.

The sound of Arthur undoing his belt and zip were enough that Morgause could guess that Arthur was going to get _seen to_ next. This was now purely and simply perverse. She knew she mustn’t look, she mustn’t. But when Arthur said, “Turn around,” in a low growl she couldn’t resist. She couldn’t stop herself from looking at what they would do next, even though she knew these images would be emblazoned in her memory for all eternity. 

Merlin was facing the sideboard, trousers still down, his thighs pressed against it. He was leaning forward slightly, his hands planted firmly on the top. Behind him Arthur had pushed his jeans down, just over his hips, and it was no surprise, if still a shock, to see his cock jutting hard, the glistening tip brushing against the skin at the base of Merlin’s spine. Merlin turned his head, his face away from her, but she saw Arthur lean in to kiss him, the bare skin of his chest, his stomach, his cock, pressed against the sharp line of Merlin’s back. As Arthur pulled away he lifted up the t-shirt Merlin was wearing, bunching it under his shoulders. He was pale, so very pale, and from the glimpses of his face, impossibly angelic. No wonder Arthur was enamoured with him. Morgause couldn’t take her eyes off either of them.

The thought vaguely occurred to Morgause, barely audible over the voice screaming _pervert_ in her head, and the fog of her own arousal, that perhaps she should intervene. Merlin looked too young, too young for Arthur to penetrate him. She could feign suddenly waking up. 

But it was too late. 

Arthur wrapped his arm around Merlin’s chest so they were close, skin on skin, as he rutted against Merlin. As his hips rocked back, she could see the rigid line of his cock as it drove forward and up, in the cleft of Merlin’s arse. It was a relief of strange sorts that this was all they were doing, if the feeling was to be had in this utter mayhem of emotions. They moaned, they kissed and the obvious heat between them seemed to be infusing into Morgause’s own body, the sweat prickling up and over her skin. 

It seemed to go on and on, this slow pulsing grind, like they were one body moving together, totally absorbed. It was agonising minutes before Arthur reached down to finally fist his cock - the swollen wetness between Morgause’s legs an aching temptation. The muscles in his forearm rippled; the tendons in his neck straining as he rested his forehead between Merlin’s shoulder-blades. His arm moved fast, his breathing faster still, as Merlin urged him closer and closer to the edge. “That’s it, that’s it. I want to feel you come all over me. Do it, _do it.”_

With a loud groan Arthur’s hips jerked forward, his come shining over his fist and likely over Merlin’s back. Morgause watched: her mouth dry and breath caught in her throat as Arthur slumped over Merlin’s back, panting and planting open-mouthed kisses over his shoulders.

It was over.

Morgause buried herself as far as she could down into the pillows, listening to Arthur and Merlin talking softly with affection as they moved around, hopefully getting dressed. 

She heard Merlin, sniggering. “Was it disgusting?”

“No. Yes. ... A bit. I need a drink.”

Their laughter petered out in the direction of the kitchen.

Morgause waited. She waited until she heard the fridge door open and close, the sound of glasses and plates being pulled from cupboards. 

Rubbing her eyes (best to exaggerate the illusion she had _only just_ woken up) she yawned louder than was normal, stretched and as noisily as she could, got up from the window seat and headed into the hallway, towards the kitchen.

When Arthur saw her, his shirt still off, slung across the kitchen island, Morgause thought he might drop the glass of orange juice he was holding. His eyes went wide, fear and panic flashing across his face. It was quickly replaced with an aggressive, “I thought you were out with your boyfriend.”

“Likewise. Though it seems you brought yours home.” She arched her eyebrows in Merlin’s direction, with unplanned severity.

Merlin looked like he might cry. Morgause immediately wished she hadn’t stooped to such a childish retort. 

Arthur quickly pulled on his shirt, the unmistakable wet patch on the front tail hastily tucked inside his jeans. “This is Merlin. Merlin, this is Morgause. She’s Morgana’s _absent_ half-sister.” He set his jaw defiantly.

“Hello, Merlin.” She smiled at him, wishing at once she could ease the worried creases on his chin.

“Hi. Nice to meet you.” 

She was about to turn and head back into the living room, to give Arthur a chance to deflate and breathe, but thought she should explain, or at least make something up. “My boyfriend stood me up. He’s not coming up until tomorrow morning. So I helped myself to some of Uther’s Scotch.” She huffed out a laugh. “It was a bad move. I went out like a light ... didn’t stir until I heard you two crashing around in here. I’ll ... um ... leave you to it.”

The air immediately seemed to lose some of its charge. Merlin smoothed out his t-shirt so that Morgause suddenly noticed the logo on the front. There was a castle with a white stallion and in gothic lettering, _Cendred and the Mercenaries._ Through its thin fabric she could see him trembling. It was hardly a surprise. No doubt Uther had no clue about this, and she had to wonder whether Merlin’s parents did either. She miserably thought about the fact that she would have to talk to Arthur later. 

“I have to take Merlin home by eleven, but we’re going up to my room until then. If that’s OK with you.” Arthur’s voice was clipped, steady, but the tension was unmistakeable. He was clever, resourceful. This could get ugly and despite all her griping this was the last thing she wanted, for any of them.

As amicably as she could manage Morgause replied, “Sure. I’m just going to watch some television.” She needed to think about how to handle this.

~*~

Not more than half an hour had passed when Arthur came down, wearing a clean t-shirt. Morgause looked up at him expectantly from where she sat, curled into the far end of the sofa.

He stood rigidly, fists clenched, closing his eyes for a long few seconds before taking a deep breath and pushing his shoulders back. “My father doesn’t know about Merlin and me - that I’m gay. And I’d appreciate it if you kept that information to yourself.”

Morgause stood, flicking off the television with the remote. “Scared?” She spoke without malice as she looked him in the eye.

“Yes, but not for me. Although you know my father well enough. He’s not ready to hear it yet. Maybe after I’ve gone to University. I plan to tell him - just on my terms.”

“For Merlin?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus, Arthur. How old is he?” Morgause rubbed her palm furiously over her forehead. 

“Sixteen. Not quite a year younger than me.” He was puzzled at her response, but then something clicked into place and he added with frustration. “I’m not worried because of his age.” He slumped onto the arm of the chair. “Merlin’s at my school on a scholarship. There’s no way his mother could afford to pay the fees, not on her own. And he’s so bright, so clever. If this got out ... I don’t know ... my father’s on the Board of Governors ... he might do something, thinking he’s protecting me.”

Morgause was speechless. This was not the Arthur she had expected at all and the realisation choked out all the things she should have been saying to reassure him.

He looked up at her, jaw set firm, his resolve not wavering though she could see he was holding back his fear through clenched fists. She had to give it to him: Arthur was growing into a fine and decent man - and most certainly not Uther’s puppet.

Morgause approached Arthur and reached down, enfolding his fist in her hand. “It’s none of my business. Of course I won’t say anything.” 

Arthur looked away, his jaw clenching manically, his Adam’s apple fighting in his throat. Morgause couldn’t bear it, to see him so wound up. She sucked in a breath and added lightly, “He’s lovely, isn’t he?”

Arthur’s face softened immediately. “I think so.”

Morgause backed away, walked over to the place she had fallen asleep earlier, where this whole mess had started, and closed the window. 

“I’m just going upstairs to tell him.” Arthur stood, looking awkward, still uncertain.

“Yes, you should.” Picturing Merlin upstairs, worried out of his mind, Morgause felt an awful pang of guilt. She needed to talk to both of them seriously, check that they knew where to get information about safe sex, about relationships. But all that could wait. Then it occurred to her that maybe ... “Hang on a second, Arthur. That t-shirt Merlin was wearing tonight ...”

“The Cenred one?” Arthur smiled. “I know - he’s into all that. They’re his favourite band. I prefer something a bit less heavy. Why?”

“Well, when you go upstairs to talk to Merlin, perhaps you should invite him to join Nick and me while we watch you play cricket tomorrow, and maybe we can all get dinner later. You see, my boyfriend’s Nick Leonard, also known to the public as _Cenred.”_

There was a pause as the revelation sunk in ... until Arthur’s face split into a wide grin. “You’re joking? You’re fucking joking?” 

So, Morgana had stayed true to her word and not told Uther or Arthur about her dating the famed musician.

“I don’t joke Arthur. I have no sense of humour whatsoever. You know that. Now go up and talk to Merlin and tell him not to wear a Cenred t-shirt tomorrow, because Nick will be embarrassed.”

Arthur punched the air, so happy and excited it felt like he’d blown a gale through the room with the force of it, pushing Morgause back and down until her backside landed with a thump on the window seat. He bounded up the stairs, his voice loud and elated, calling out to Merlin seconds before he reached his room, slamming the door behind him.

There was no doubt, Arthur was becoming a man – one that Morgause respected and wanted to know better. But in those moments as he ran up the stairs to Merlin, two at a time, she was endeared to see some remnants of a boy - a happy, excited, loving boy.

Whether it was Merlin that had brought about this change, or whether it was the unstoppable force of Arthur’s mother’s genes exerting their will, she would never know. But with warm satisfaction settling in her chest, Morgause could safely conclude Arthur was not his father, and never would be.

From her spot on the window seat, Morgause glanced into the hallway one last lingering time, deciding it was time for bed. And most definitely, after Arthur left to take Merlin home, she was going to have a wank.


End file.
